


The Dacha Inn

by miss_squid



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends, F/F, Fluff, Katya isn't sure of what she wants but she'll get there, Lesbian Beach AU, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 19:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12175185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_squid/pseuds/miss_squid
Summary: The reason why going to the east coast is bearable every year is standing right in front of her. Though Trixie’s greeted her dozens of times in different fashions, the nervousness of seeing her every year remains a constant. It’s the initial fear that something will be different, that either she’ll change, or she’ll see that Trixie has changed and won’t want her anymore. It doesn’t matter to Trixie. The other woman could reinvent herself a million times and the feeling of her heart being stretched like taffy would stay the same. Her fear is that one day she will look at her and realize that she wasted sixteen years of her life on somebody that was too different from her. That fear has never come true, no matter how much they’ve both changed, but it coils in her gut like she’s eaten something rotten.





	The Dacha Inn

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired in part by [this](https://youtu.be/7_ocvnWHy90)!
> 
> Katya and Trixie are aged 2 years apart in this fic, Trixie being 9 when she first comes to the inn and Katya being 11.
> 
> Also here's the translation of the Russian that I copied from google translate:  
> Екатерина! здесь трикси и валериа-- Yekaterina! Is that Trixie and Valerie?  
> да, мама!-- Yes, Mama!  
> за́йка-- Bunny  
> Золото-- Gold (apparently a common nickname in Russia?? Tell me if I'm wrong though idk idk)

The salty sea air always did wonders for Trixie’s curls. Though they’re difficult to brush, they spill across her shoulders beautifully— or at least that’s how her mom describes them. As she steps out of her mom’s old Honda, she tucks the strands behind her ears. The breeze blows gently against Trixie’s face and she takes a deep breath. The smell of the beach is always comforting, like a second home.

While she loves Milwaukee, there’s something cathartic about being in a place where her embarrassments and mistakes don’t follow her. Nobody here knows about that time when she choked trying to eat a marshmallow whole, or that time when she accidentally made dough trying to make a roux. Kim held the first one over her head especially. Even now, Trixie can hear her say,  _Hey remember that time you almost died choking on a marshmallow and I didn’t help you?_

Of course, she’s had her own set of embarrassments here as well, but she’s not usually around for long enough for anybody to hold it above her head.

They’re parked in front of Victorian-style bed and breakfast that Trixie and her mom have been staying at every summer since Trixie was nine. The sign reading  _The Dacha Inn_ is worn from the unrelenting sea breeze, with paint chipped on the swirls of the D and I. The color of the house, however, remains the same rich burgundy that Trixie remembers.

Her mom is currently tugging at the suitcases piled in the trunk of the car, grunting as she tries to pry one loose from the hoard. It’s tightly packed, and there’s definitely way too much to carry between the two of them. They’ve made this trip no less than a million times, yet they never figured out how to lessen the load. It’s only increased since Trixie got older and started accumulating more and more clothing. She supposes she’s like her mom in that regard: too much stuff, and never enough space to put it all. Trixie grabs the handle of one of the suitcases, plants one foot against the car’s bumper, and tugs, hoping it’ll pry lose. Not even budging.

“Jeez, do we always have to pack so much?” Trixie grumbles, then motions her mom to help her. Valerie waves her off and starts pulling at the handle herself. Her mom is strong and hardy, a born and raised farm girl, but the luggage barely gives as she yanks on the handle. The breath is knocked out of her and she has to catch her breath before pulling again.

“This is like that sword in the stone movie, isn’t it?” Her mom says between breaths, giving it one final tug before giving up. “And yes Trixie, we do need this much. You say this every time we come down here, and I don’t see you doing any laundry, Miss Thing.”

Trixie shrieks with laughter. “I don’t see you doing it either!”

Her mom slaps her arm playfully, laughing along with Trixie. “Shut up and help me with this.”

Several minutes pass with them making no progress and Trixie’s arms feel like they’re gonna fall off. The wind has been knocked out of her and she takes a moment to catch her breath, placing her hands on her knees. She sucks in a breath through her nose, her chest puffed out, about to tug at the handle again, but a voice calls out to them from the bed and breakfast.

“Do either of you ladies need any help?”

Trixie and her mom whip their heads around to the source of the noise, where a girl with platinum blonde hair tied up in a ponytail hangs out the doorway, grinning at both of them.,

Trixie can feel her heart swelling up. Whether it was anxiousness or affection, Trixie wasn’t sure. The reason why going to the east coast is bearable every year is standing right in front of her. Though Trixie’s greeted her dozens of times in different fashions, the nervousness of seeing her every year remains a constant. It’s the initial fear that something will be different, that either she’ll change, or she’ll see that Trixie has changed and won’t want her anymore. It doesn’t matter to Trixie. The other woman could reinvent herself a million times and the feeling of her heart being stretched like taffy would stay the same. Her fear is that one day she will look at her and realize that she wasted sixteen years of her life on somebody that was too different from her. That fear has never come true, no matter how much they’ve both changed, but it coils in her gut like she’s eaten something rotten. Nonetheless, she pushes it down, ignores it. Trixie can’t let her know that every year she’s bursts with an odd combination of joy and anxiety within the first ten minutes of seeing her.

“Katya!” Trixie smiles and rushes to meet her. She almost trips on the curb, and Katya laughs as she flails her arms trying to regain balance, but still holds out her arms for Trixie to run into. Trixie sprints through the yard, up the porch stairs, and meets her in a hug, swaying back and forth as she envelops the smaller woman in her arms. Katya is shorter than her, but her hugs are warm and secure.

“Hi, Barbie,” Katya says softly enough so that only Trixie can hear.

Trixie’s veins warm, pumping through her heart and down to her toes, but she’s not about to let Katya know how much her childhood nickname affects her.

“Hey, slut. Haven’t seen you in about nine months. Had a kid without me?” Trixie says into her hair.

“They’re twins, both yours,”

Trixie giggles and squeezes her a bit tighter.

When she finally pulls away, she holds Trixie at arm’s length, eyes raking over her, taking in everything that has changed in the couple of months since she left. “Look at you, your hair’s longer, isn’t it?” Katya says. She twirls a lock around her finger before tugging on it lightly. Trixie rolls her eyes and tries to swat her hand away. Katya gives her a devilish grin and tugs again, harder this time. Something unspoken passes between them, but Trixie completely understands. Her thighs clench.

A strange sense of relief washes over her. One that replaces the anxious rigidness of her muscles with that of desire.

Katya is still smiling, but her gaze is steely and hungry. She looks like she would shove Trixie’s skirt down, bend her over the railing, and fuck her on the porch in broad daylight if she could. Trixie would probably let her.

"You're excited to see me, aren't you?" Trixie notes.

"Just as excited as you are."

They stare at each other, both unflinching, waiting for the other to back down. Of course, it hasn't always been like this— the sexual tension— but it's been routine as of lately.

It was four years ago when it first started. They were both drunk of their asses at a party, Trixie sitting in Katya's lap, complaining that there was nobody in Milwaukee that wanted to fuck her. That's when Katya shoved her off her lap and took her up to one of the spare rooms and stuffed two fingers in her, making her see stars. The entire party could hear Trixie's moans over the roaring music. And since then, they've fucked wherever and whenever they could. It was hard with Katya's rigorous lifeguard schedule, but they made it work. In motels, bathrooms, bars, under the boardwalk (only once, Trixie had to scrub sand out of her pussy for hours afterwards), wherever they could find time. If it were Trixie's decision, she would have Katya fuck her all the time. She's always begging for it, knocking on Katya's door at odd hours in the night whining for her to eat her out. Besides, it's really the only time she's able to get laid. The rest of the year she'll have to make do with toys and occasional Skype calls. But right now Katya is in front of her and Trixie can feel adrenaline drumming through her veins. She can only imagine the sorts of things Katya will do to her.

“Katya! Hello darling, how are you?” Trixie’s mom breaks the tension between them. She sets down her luggage and throws her arms out to hug the Russian. Katya lets go of Trixie’s hair with one last tug and turns to Trixie’s mom, squeezes her tight like a close relative that she hadn’t seen in forever.

“Hi, Valerie, I didn’t forget you, don’t worry,” Katya says.

“Oh, you know I wouldn’t let that happen. I would make you get a tattoo of me if you did.” Trixie’s mom retorts.

Katya immediately wheezes a laugh, stomping her feet on the porch and wiggling in Valerie’s grasp. Trixie snorts. If there was anything that told her that she was back on the east coast, it was the familiar sound of Katya laughing maniacally to any bad joke thrown at her. It was almost as comforting as the smell of sea salt. Katya pulls away from Valerie with a smile plastered from cheek to cheek.

“Oh, oh! Let me grab these for you, Val.” Katya remembers herself and grabs the suitcases from either side of Valerie. “I know what room you’re staying in this time, Mama made sure I didn’t mess it up and forget,”

“Thank god. I don’t want to have to bargain my luggage back from another old couple. I’m sure Margaret still has one of my blouses,” Trixie says, her tone dry and sarcastic.

“Well lucky for you, I remembered this time. So you can shut that pretty mouth of yours, Miss Mattel.” Katya says. Images of Katya shoving her fingers or a gag inside Trixie’s mouth immediately flash through her mind. She viciously waves them off, hoping that nobody within proximity of her is a mind reader. It's Katya's fault she's corrupted, anyways.

Katya grabs one of Valerie’s bags, turns heel, and marches back inside. Trixie can hear her bare feet stomping up the carpeted stairs.

Trixie and Valerie follow her, the interior still as crowded and cozy as ever. The front room is spacious with blue and white floral couches and chairs organized around dark wood coffee tables. The walls are a similar red to the paneling outside and emerald green curtains flow from open ceiling-to-floor windows. Ornately decorated rugs are spread throughout the room and small Russian figurines line the mantle of the fireplace. There are bookcases and cupboards in each corner. The bookcases are bursting with books organized by color and the cupboards showcasing handprinted plates, tea sets, and other trinkets. The staircase is in the center of the room, leading up to the bedrooms. The arch on the left side of the room leads to the kitchen, where scents waft and swirl through the whole house.

The smell of spices and meat and vegetables swirl around the air and permeates the blonde’s lungs. If heaven was on earth, it came in the form of Katya’s mother— Svetlana Zamolodchikova’s— cooking.

"Екатерина! здесь трикси и валериа?" She shouts from the kitchen.

"да, мама!"  Katya screams back. A clatter resounds, then Trixie sees a small Russian woman bustle from the kitchen through the archway leading to the living room. A giant grin adorns her face and Trixie drops her bags immediately to meet her.

Svetlana is like Trixie’s cool aunt. When Trixie was younger, Svetlana would sneak her and Katya cookies before they went to bed, and set up pillow forts for them in the main living room to watch movies in. She sang songs in Russian that only her and Katya could sing along to, but Trixie hummed along once she got the notes down. Svetlana always sent something to Trixie for Christmas every year, usually a Barbie doll or a dress. Trixie always makes sure to get her a vintage wind up toy or a piece of jewelry in return. The blonde knows Svetlana loves her like a second daughter and Trixie in turn loved her like a second mother. She makes sure to FaceTime her at least once a month when she’s not at the inn, or the small Russian woman will send her twenty garbled texts in a row saying how she misses Trixie.

"Hello, hello, Trixie! Oh, I missed you, Золото! You've grown so much, so beautiful!" Svetlana cradles Trixie's face in her hands before wrapping them around her back. Trixie bends down to hug her as well, taking in how she smells like spices and home-cooking.

"You say that, but I don't think I've grown a single inch from last year," Trixie laughs, "...but I missed you too, Svetlana."

Valerie reaches from behind Trixie to tap Svetlana on the shoulder.

"Ah! Don't think I forgot you, you old hag!" Svetlana laughs. No matter how many times Trixie hears Svetlana and her mom talk to each other, it always surprises her how much they sound like her and Katya.

Valerie and Svetlana embrace, asking each other how they've been, how work has been, how Svetlana's husband, Nikolai, has been. They chatter endlessly, making up for the time they haven't seen each other in person.

Katya walks back down the stairs, quieter than when she went up, with Valerie's luggage still in hand. Trixie tries not to drool over how Katya's muscles bulge carrying the heavy suitcases. 

"They're gonna be talking for a while, do you want me to show you to the room? I doubt you'll want to stand there and carry that luggage all day waiting for them," Katya says.

Trixie huffs a laugh and nods, taking one more look at Valerie and Svetlana before following Katya upstairs.

They finally reach the top of the steps and Katya nods her head to the right. Trixie follows suit. She follows her to the end of the hallway, where Katya sets down a suitcase and opens the door. She beckons the younger woman into the room, a suite with two red regal queen sized beds, a breakfast nook, some floral patterned chairs that match the ones downstairs, and a balcony overlooking the town. In the distance, a few blocks up, Trixie can see where the town is cut off by the boardwalk and the beach. The emerald curtains billow from the ocean breeze and Trixie can hear the calming rhythm of the waves from here.

“Dinner will be ready in a few.” Katya looks down at the invisible watch on her wrist, then back up at the blonde. “Do you wanna meet up at the motel after dinner? We can say that we're meeting Violet and Ginger for a couple drinks.”

Trixie grins. She  already texted Violet and Ginger earlier today; Violet has a show tonight and Ginger is up in New York for an audition. Katya knows this too.

“Yeah, sure,” she says, then brushes past her to retrieve the rest of her luggage.

 

* * *

 

Trixie was shaken awake by a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Trixie,” she heard her mom’s voice say, “we’re here.”

The young girl rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and stifled a yawn. The base of her spine ached from sitting in the car for too long, and so did her neck from sleeping at an odd angle. She stretched in an attempt to alleviate the pain and could hear several joint pop back into place, then slumped back against the seat.

There was rustling coming from the trunk of the car. The blonde craned her neck, wincing at the dull ache, to see her mom lugging suitcase after suitcase of clothing out of the back.

For an entire summer, they would be staying at this new bed and breakfast that her mom’s old childhood friend opened up. She said something about “missing the east coast” and “wanting to spend quality time with her daughter”, but Trixie was sure she was actually trying to torture her. It was working; her friends back home were hanging out without her while she was stuck in some beach town for  _all of summer break_.

“Trixie, come grab your suitcases, please!” Her mom called.

Trixie obeyed, unbuckling her seat belt and hopping out of the car. She slung one of her own pink barbie duffle bags across her shoulders, then grabbed the handles of her other suitcases. They’re heavy, but she didn't have any problem rolling them to the front entrance of the bed and breakfast, her mom close behind her.

The blonde stopped at the base of the porch steps, setting the suitcases back on their rubber legs. Valerie trudged up the couple of stairs and set her suitcases on the mahogany porch, then picked up Trixie’s and did the same.

The building itself was a Victorian-style house painted a tasteful burgundy color. It was accented with white window panes and porch columns, and navy shingles. Above the porch hung a sign that read  _The Dacha Inn_ in a fresh curly golden print. The steps creaked as Trixie walked up them.

Trixie followed her mom through the front door, clutching to the back of her shirt with her free hand.

At the sound of the door creaking opening, a tiny woman popped her head in from another room. Her features were sharp and symmetrical. Her nose sloped gracefully down her face and ended at a point, her cheekbones hollowed her cheeks, her jaw prominent and bold. Platinum blonde hair curled into a bob and a red bandana tied on her head kept it out of her face.

“Is that you, за́йка?” The woman gasped. She emerged fully from the doorway. Valerie nodded and squealed, dropping her bags and running full speed towards her. They hugged, rocking back and forth and laughing.

“I’m so glad you could make it! I've missed you so much, за́йка. I'm so glad you're back here for the summer. Oh, look at you!" the woman patted at Valerie's face, smirking. "Look at all of these wrinkles! You're becoming an old hag, aren't you?" The woman spoke with a thick Russian accent that Trixie found difficult to understand. Her mom, however, didn’t seem to have any issue.

Valerie shrieked with laughter and pushed the woman's hands off of her face. "Shut up, Svetlana! You're just as old as me!"

The woman— Svetlana— laughed along with her. When she collected herself, she said, "I’ve been cooking a feast since this morning just for you, so I hope you’re hungry.” 

“Svetlana, you didn’t have to go all out for us! Housing us for the summer at a discount is enough,” Valerie said.

Svetlana waved her off. “It is no issue to me. What other way could I welcome a dear friend of mine? I even made your favorite.”

“Chicken tabaka? You remembered that?” Valerie smiled wide.

“Of course!” Svetlana said, “After school we would make it to get all the tension out. We would get the mallet and pound the chicken to a pulp, remember?”

“Oh, don’t remind me. Remember that one time when I got raw chicken juice in my eye and had an infection for weeks?”

They both laughed hysterically at the nostalgic memories they bring up, talking over one another about eye infections, prank calling the biology teacher, whatever came to mind. Each memory they brought up seemed to make them laugh louder. Trixie’s feet began to hurt from how long she had been standing, but she felt too awkward to sit on one of the couches. Instead, she stood by the luggage, waiting for her mom to take notice of her again.

Svetlana looked over Valerie’s shoulder and spotted Trixie still standing awkwardly in the entranceway. “Is that Trixie over there? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, Золото! My, how you’ve grown! I remember when your mom visited last and you were small enough to hold in my arms,” Both Valerie and Svetlana strode over to her. Svetlana pinched her cheek while Valerie wrapped her arm around her. Trixie gave the Russian woman a tight-lipped smile, ignoring the slight pain left behind when she let go. “Ah, yes! за́йка, you haven’t seen Yekaterina in years, haven’t you? I bet she would be so excited to finally meet Trixie.”

Valerie’s face lit up. “That would be a great idea! Do you want to meet Svetlana’s daughter, Trixie? She’s around the same age as you.” She nudged Trixie with her elbow. The nine year old nodded politely, but didn't say anything. She hated it whenever moms got like this. She never knew how to act around them, especially when their voices get high-pitched and condescending. She felt like she could never say no to them, that she had to go along with whatever they asked of her.

“I will go get her, stay right here.” Svetlana then hurried to the staircase and yelled up in Russian. A distant voice answered back, then seconds later she heard the dull thumping of bare feet hitting the stairs. Svetlana returns with her arm wrapped around the shoulder a girl who looks shockingly similar to her, right down to the blonde hair and strong jaw. The young girl stared inquisitively at Trixie and her mom. Trixie gave an awkward wave and half-smile, hoping she didn’t look too uncomfortable. The girl wove back.

The girl scanned her over for a long time. The first thing Trixie noticed about her eyes is that they were piercing. Green, maybe gray? Trixie wasn’t quite sure.

“This is Yekaterina, Trixie. She’s eleven years old, just about to enter middle school,” Svetlana said, pride lacing her tone.

“Oh, how exciting! Trixie is about to go into 4th grade. She’s  _very_  excited for it,” Valerie said, a too-wide grin plastering her face. Trixie wished that Svetlana and her daughter would disappear so that her mom could stop talking about her like this. “Yekaterina, do you think you could give Trixie any pointers for 4th grade? I hear it’s a tough one.”

“You can call me Katya,” the girl replied. She then looked back at Trixie and said, “Um, do your homework, participate in class, and…” she stopped for a few moments to contemplate, then said, “…the bum in the dumpster out back always tutors for free on Wednesdays.”

“Yekaterina!” Her mom exclaimed, “I wish you would stop talking like that. It scares people off!”

Katya shrugged and grinned at Trixie, who grinned back just as wide. “Is the bum supposed to be you?” she asked.

There was a moment of complete silence where Trixie thought she took it  _too far_  before Katya burst out laughing. She wheezed and flailed her arms every which way, then reached and grabbed Trixie’s hand for support. The young girl held it, smiling from ear to ear.

Both of their mothers looked absolutely scandalized, but the young girls barely noticed.

 

* * *

  

They walk side by side, motions perfectly in sync. Katya takes longer strides to keep up with Trixie. She marvels at how her thighs and calves are thick and veiny and beautiful, but her feet seem so small and soft in her heels. They clack with confidence as she walks; she’s so sure of every step that she takes, and it turns Trixie on. She likes the way Katya gets serious when she’s horny, how her face will darken, how her muscles will tighten. Excitement bubbles under her skin, so she walks faster, ahead of Katya. Anything to get them to the motel faster.

Dinner was impossibly slow. Svetlana and Katya's father Nikolai kept asking her questions about her job, where she was living, if she had a boyfriend. All Trixie could pay attention to was Katya next to her, fingers inching up her thigh, going under her skirt, ghosting over her the elastic of her underwear, then traveling back down. It took everything in her to answer Svetlana and Nikolai's questions instead of begging Katya to fuck her hard over the table. Yes, she's a makeup artist in Milwaukee. Yes, she likes where she's living, but she's thinking of moving to Chicago or LA. No, she doesn't have a boyfriend. And no, she's not looking for a boyfriend at the moment, but thank you for the offer, Svetlana. She's sure your nephew is lovely. They nodded after every answer, oblivious to the fact that her daughter is a sex demon hellbent on torturing Trixie.

Although Katya is constantly teasing her, fucking at the inn was impossible. There were Katya’s parents and Valerie— as well as nosy guests— hovering over them at all times. Neither of them wanted to go through the never-ending embarrassment they would face if any of them found out. Or the never-ending questions. Trixie didn’t even want to imagine the kind of stuff her mother would ask her. Cheap motels were just safer and easier for the both of them.

As she walks, she can feel herself pulled back by the waist. The other blonde has wrapped her arm around Trixie, her fingers digging into her hip. It’s subtle, but blood roars in Trixie’s veins, and she lets out a small whine that only Katya can hear. The fingers dig in harder.

They turn the block, and before them is a flickering sign that reads  _Grand Beach Motel_. Neon blue stars dot the space beside the letters, along with a smaller sign that reads  _vacancy_. It’s seedy, but it’ll do. Katya slips her hand from Trixie’s hip to her hand and tugs her across the parking lot to the door of the tiny front office. There’s a worn welcome mat with cartoon seashells and starfish adorning the sides. The siding of the office is navy blue with gray shingles. Trixie can see tiny plants sprouting up from the gutters and wrinkles her nose. They’re healthier than the almost-dead pansies dotting the sides of the office, their pathetic petals browning and wrinkling and curling. From inside, an older woman sits behind the counter. She’s reading some sort of crime novel, from what Trixie can tell. Her face droops with tiredness and everything inside seems completely still aside from the occasional flick of the page turning and the ticking wall clock.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” Katya says. She opens the door and a bell rings out. From the window, Trixie can see the woman slowly raise her head up, not yet putting down her book. Trixie can’t hear what either of them are saying, but the woman flickers her eyes from Katya to Trixie, then back to Katya. Trixie can see her sigh and put down her book, then checks the computer resting behind the counter. A blush blooms across her cheeks. That woman definitely knows what she and Katya are gonna be up to in her motel room, but part of her is too horny to care. Mind your fucking business, counter lady. For what feels like forever, the woman checks her computer, clicks her mouse a few times, then turns back to Katya and says something. Katya rests her arm on the counter and pulls money from her wallet with a free hand. She hands it over and receives a key in exchange. Thanking the woman with a wave, Katya marches back out and finds Trixie exactly where she left her.

She roughly grabs her by the arm and speed walks to the stairs winding up to the second floor. Trixie’s pussy throbs. She trips to keep up as Katya drags her up the stairs, down the hallway, searching for the correct room number. They stop in front of room 243. Katya turns, presses the key into her hand, then pushes her against the door. She kisses her, digs her fingers into her hips, then seperates and flips her so Trixie’s breasts are pushed against the door. The door makes a dull thumping sounds, and Trixie is afraid for a minute that the neighbors will come out to investigate.

Katya palms at Trixie’s ass she nips on the back of her neck. She can feel her lipstick staining her skin, but Trixie is too turned on to care about anything other than getting fucked within the next two minutes. Trixie can feel Katya’s perky breasts press against her back and her breath hot on her neck. Katya noses at her ear and moans, squeezing her ass a bit harder and trailing one hand down to the insides of her thighs, scratching lightly with her blunt nails. It makes her want to melt against the doorway and let Katya have her way with her, but she knows she needs to get this damn motel door open. At least for the sake of the neighbors.

“Ah! Can’t your horny ass wait for two seconds?” Trixie asks in mock impatience, but her voice trembles a bit.

Katya responds by smacking her ass. Hard. Trixie whimpers.

“Fucking barely. I’ve been waiting all year for this,” Katya says, then bites the back of Trixie’s neck. She sobs. Oh, God, she’s been waiting all year for this too, and she just wants to get inside, but the damn doorknob isn’t cooperating with her.

After fiddling with the key with what felt like hours, Trixie finally unlocks the door. She slams the it open and jumps at the sound of wood hitting drywall. Katya pays no mind and instead grabs Trixie’s hips and guides her to the gaudy mattress in the middle of the motel room. The comforter is patterned with dark green palm leaves and orange hibiscuses and Trixie wants to throw up at the ugly design, but she was quickly distracted by Katya flipping her around and pushing her down on the mattress. Her legs hang off the bed, but the rest of her body sprawls across the mattress, blonde hair splayed around her. Katya crawls on top of her, attaching herself to her neck once more.

It’s just as hot and sticky in this room as it is outside and Trixie can feel herself sweating through her clothing.

“Wait, wait, can’t we at least turn on the AC or something? I’m not doing this in 85 degree weather,” she complains as she pushes lightly against Katya’s shoulders.

Katya grabs a fistful of Trixie’s curly hair, tugging at it. Trixie gasps and Katya takes the opportunity to kiss her. She kisses her like she does everything else, intensely and aggressively. Trixie feels her licking at her teeth and into her mouth, and she instantly forgets about the AC. She lets out a whine and wraps her arms around Katya’s neck, playing with the baby hairs at the base of her skull. Katya’s hands lay tangled in Trixie’s hair as she bit her bottom lip to draw more noises out of her. A hand slides down to touch Trixie’s breast over the fabric of her button-down. She squeezes it, drawing tiny moans out of the blonde. The hand still in Trixie’s curls moves down her body, nails raking down her neck and across her shoulders, over her shirt, down her skirt, and finally resting on her thigh. She clutches her thigh like she owns Trixie. She ghosts her hand up her leg, playing with the hem of her skirt, and Trixie is so fucking wet she’s squirming. She’s begging Katya to touch her between kisses, and clasps her hand around her wrist, guiding her to Trixie’s soaking panties.

Then, all at once, Katya pulls away from her.

“Katya,” Trixie whines, drawing out the ‘a’ as the other woman makes her way to the front of the room, fiddling with the AC.

“You sure do like to complain, don’t you?” Katya’s back is facing Trixie, but she can see her cheeks tug into a smile. “You asked me to do this, so it’s what I’m doing.”

Trixie shifts to get up, maybe pin her up against the windowsill and eat her out, but Katya stops her.

“No, stay right there,” she commands. Trixie squirms at the authoritative tone of Katya’s voice and complies. She’s flops back onto the bed, sighing in regret that she opened her big mouth. She knew Katya was gonna do something like this. She always does. It’s always the first night she stays that Katya gets  _really_  bossy. She’s desperate and horny and rough, and Trixie always loves how she’ll fuck her until she’s whining, pull her hair and smack her ass, curl her fingers inside her until Trixie is screaming. The Russian will pull her over her lap and tell her how she loves how thick her thighs are, how her tits are so amazing, and how her ass drives her up a fucking wall.

She can feel herself soaked through her panties. Katya’s messing with the AC, not touching her at all. Trixie reaches under her dress to rub herself through her panties— she needs some relief so badly— but Katya speaks up once again.

“And don’t touch yourself.”

Trixie wants to scream. She groans— loud enough so Katya can definitely hear her— and slides her hand from between her thighs onto the mattress, grasping tightly at the god-ugly sheets. Lust is bubbling up within her and she wants to get fucked, but she loves how bossy Katya is being, but she also wants Katya’s hands all over her, fingers stuffed in her as she sits in her lap, her head stuffed between her breasts, lapping at her dusky nipples.

The AC roars to life. Trixie has never been more grateful for the sound of sputtering machinery in her life. It’s still hot as fuck, but she doesn’t care anymore. Katya turns around and Trixie sits up and holds her arms out, beckoning for Katya to climb on top of her again.

The other woman instead pulls one of the chairs next to the AC up to the side of the bed. She sits down, her legs crossed, and her hands gripping the armrests.

“Well?” Trixie asks, impatience lacing her tone.

“Well, what?” Katya answers. The corners of her mouth poke her cheeks and her eyes light up mischievously. She loves to do this to Trixie, fuck. She loves to entice her, then leave her writhing for more, for Katya, for anything, until the blonde is begging her.

Trixie has never wanted to slap a look off someone’s face as much as she does her’s.

“Whatever happened to ‘waiting all year for this’?” she says, not bothering to hide the annoyance in her voice. Trixie knows Katya loves when she gets whiny and bratty.

“I can wait a bit longer,” Katya replies.

Trixie huffs, kicks her shoes across the room, throws Katya a dirty look, and tucks her feet under her ass. Two could play at this game. She aligns herself so that her panties are flush on the mattress, looks Katya straight in the eye, and starts moving her hips. She was going to listen to what Katya told her to do; she wasn’t going to touch herself, but that didn’t include grinding against the mattress. It barely satisfies her, and she feels like she's 13 trying to figure out what makes her feel good, but she let out little gasps to rile Katya up. She closes her eyes and throws her head back, pretending that she’s rubbing against Katya’s thigh. She can’t see her, but she’s hoping that she’s losing her composure.

“Take off your shirt and skirt,” Katya says. She’s using that bossy voice and Trixie doesn’t want to admit how much it works on her. With heat blooming inside her lungs, she obeys and pulls her shirt over her head, then shimmies out of her skirt, making sure Katya notices how the elastic stretches over her ass, leaving her with her silk panties and matching bra. They're thrown across the room, joining her heels. She opens her eyes, places both hands on the edge of the bed, and grinds down hard on the mattress. The rough comforter feels surprisingly good on her clit, but it’s not enough to send her over the edge.

“Can you come over and fuck me now?” Trixie is surprised at how quietly the words escape her. Katya groans in pleasure.

“No, not yet.” Katya’s words sound a bit strained. Trixie’s eyes meet her’s. She has her legs thrown over the armrests, one hand touching herself and the other under her shirt, rolling her nipple between her fingers. She’s biting her lip and grinning. Fuck, how could anybody look so hot doing that? All she wants to do is crawl into Katya’s lap, her ass firm against her abdomen, and kiss that grin off her face, then reach down and pump her with her fingers until she’s a sobbing mess.

But instead, she asks Katya, “Can I at least touch myself?”

She doesn’t answer. Trixie hears her breath stutter as she’s rubbing her clit through her black lace underwear, eyes roll into the back of her head, completely ignoring Trixie.

“C’mon,” Trixie whimpers, “you’re not the only one who’s been waiting for this.”

The older woman rubs herself a bit slower, her breath evening out a bit more. She closes her eyes, eyelids fluttering as she rubs her clit  _just right_. “Fine, you can touch yourself,” Katya says finally, as if she’s appeasing a petulant child.

“Katya—“

“Just take the panties off and fuck yourself with one finger.” Katya is now smoldering her with those green eyes, eyes that make sparks shoot down her spine, eyes that challenge Trixie to disobey her.

Trixie groans, then shifts so her breasts press against the mattress and her ass is up in the air. She slides her thong off, raising her knees, then throws it across the room, not caring where it lands. She reaches behind herself, rubbing at her pussy with one finger before pushing in.

Her fingers slide in and out of herself as Katya tells her to add more. She’s desperate, heat coiling in her gut as she can feel herself teetering on the edge, but not quite there.

“Please, please touch me, Katya,” Trixie begs. Her legs are trembling and she’s dripping onto the sheets, she doesn’t know how much longer she can take. Katya’s right there, she smells so good, like sweat and a hint of perfume, but she’s not here touching her, and Trixie thinks she might actually go insane.

“That’s all you had to say, kitten.”

Katya is all over her at once. She flips Trixie on her back and her chest swells up as Katya kisses how she likes it, rough and fast. She sucks on Trixie’s tongue, weaving her fingers into her hair and tugging. The younger woman can’t suppress the moans that rise from her throat. Katya tastes like cigarettes and beer, a combination that Trixie would usually shudder at, but now she welcomes it, looping her arms around Katya’s neck and grasping at the baby hairs at the base of her neck. Katya breaks the kiss to take off her shirt, reaches behind herself to take off her bra. Trixie does the same, throwing it in the general direction of the rest of the clothing. They kiss again, their breasts press against each other as Katya moves Trixie to sit in her lap, one hand wrapped around her waist, the other pressing one finger against Trixie’s pussy, not quite entering. Trixie whines in response. She wiggles her hips and noses at the sensitive patch of skin right under the Katya’s jaw. The perfume the other woman put on earlier is still faintly on her skin, sweat masking the scent of white hyacinth, and she can’t get enough of it. She inhales and Katya chuckles. Trixie can feel the sound reverberate through her lungs where her breasts are touching Katya’s. She nibbles at her neck and begs for her to _fuck her already_.

Katya obliges, sticking one finger in Trixie. She pumps in and out, her thumb rubbing circles on her clit.

“Fuck,” Trixie’s whimpers as she digs her face into the junction between Katya’s neck and shoulder. Trixie bounces in Katya’s lap, a tiny gasp escaping her every now and again.

“You want another finger in you?” Katya mumbles in her ear, making electricity shoot down Trixie’s spine. She nods and mewls against her skin, pressing tiny kisses on Katya’s collarbone. Her sticky pink lipstick leaves stains on Katya’s skin, and Trixie pretends that she’s marking her as her own.

Katya adds another finger, working her open, and rubbing harder against her clit. She bites down on Katya’s collarbone. A knot begins to form in her gut as she fucks herself harder against the other woman’s fingers. She’s panting now, high-pitched whines escaping her as Katya’s fucking her so good.

“Do you wanna come?” Katya is whispering into her hair. Her other hand rubs circles in her lower back, dipping between her crack and squeezing one cheek. She’s breathing against Trixie’s ear, small grunts escaping her.

“Mmhmm,” Trixie whines into Katya’s shoulder.

A third finger enters her and Trixie whines through her nose, the only words coming out of her mouth now are a string of "fuck"s and "Katya"s.

Trixie brings the hand on her ass up to her mouth and sucks on her fingers. Her tongue runs over the callouses, the nails bitten down to the nub, bites down on the knuckles. She moans as the pads of Katya’s fingers press down on her tongue.

When Trixie comes, she pants through her nose as she moans arounds Katya’s fingers. The older woman grunts into her ear as she fucks her through her orgasm, her thumb still pressing against her clit. Trixie’s thighs are trembling on either side of Katya’s hips as she comes down from her high, removing the fingers from her mouth to kiss her.

It takes her a moment to recover. She kisses Katya languidly, moaning as the Russian bites down on her lip.  Both of their thighs are completely soaked, but Trixie doesn’t mind as she slides off the other woman’s lap and taps her knees to open up her legs. Katya obliges, curling one hand in Trixie’s hair and twisting the other in the sheets.

Trixie kisses the insides of Katya’s thighs, making sure to leave a trail of pink lipstick as she goes. She licks between Katya’s folds, teasing her. She flits her eyes towards Katya’s, daring her to do something. Accepting the challenge, Katya tightens her grip in the other’s hair and pulls her until Trixie’s nose is flush with her pubes. They both moan.

“Faster,” Katya demands.

She tastes so good. It’s completely indescribable, but so familiar to Trixie that she can’t get enough of it. She licks between her folds, circling at Katya’s entrance. Two of her fingers come to rub against her clit as she tongue fucks her, completely aware of how her makeup is getting smeared. She doesn’t even care, not with Katya moaning above her like that and holding tight to her curls.

“God, fuck, Trixie,” Katya groans as she strokes Trixie’s hair, “So good, kitten, such a good girl, God.”

Even though Trixie just came, she can feel her hips involuntarily twitch at the praise. Her lungs strain from the lack of oxygen, so Trixie slows, taps Katya’s hip so she can breathe, begins to lift herself onto her elbows. The legs thrown over Trixie’s shoulders clench harder around her. Trixie gasps as she’s forced back down on Katya’s pussy.

“Don’t fucking stop,” Katya growls, “I’m so fucking close, Trixie Mattel, don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Her tongue flicks over Katya’s clit again, then down to her entrance.She circles it with her tongue before plunging back in.

Katya’s eyes roll to the back of her head as she comes, her thighs shaking and clamping around Trixie’s head, and a long, breathy gasp escaping her. Trixie licks her through it, loves the feeling of Katya’s hips jerking every time her tongue ghosts over her clit. Katya’s grip softens in her hair as she comes down. Both her face and her thighs are completely soaked now, but Katya still pulls her up to kiss her. The younger woman is sure Katya can taste herself on Trixie’s tongue, and can feel her breathe sharply through her nose in response. Eventually they break apart and lay down on the motel bed, Trixie running her hand through Katya’s hair, and Katya’s hand resting on her hip, content in studying her face.

Neither of them felt like moving.

 

* * *

 

“Go find something to do, play in the water or something,” was what her mom told her to do. The water was way too cold for Trixie; it was only June so every wave washing over her feet sent a shock up her spine that she wasn’t particularly fond of. There were boys digging holes in the sand with their fancy plastic shovels, but she had a feeling that they would either exile her from their ‘club’, or try to shove sand crabs down her bathing suit. So that was also a no. She didn’t want to stay under the umbrella and read either because she had been itching to move all day. She had been in a hot car for two whole days trying to get here, sprawled across the backseat of mom’s Honda as she begged her to roll down the window  _just once_. The drive from Milwaukee wasn’t a pleasant one. But still, Trixie still has to find something to do while her mom lounged under her umbrella and drank Corona Lights. She looked around, hoping for some sort of activity to fall out of the sky in front of her feet.

No such luck.

She peered back at the boardwalk and spotted some girls messing around in the sand past the boardwalk. When she and her mom were walking to the beach, Trixie spotted huge dug outs underneath the boardwalk. She guessed that's where those kids are hanging out. She didn't know what they were for (she asked her mom and she didn't know either), but that was as good a place as any to goof off, she supposed.

She sucked in a breath through her nose and braved the white hot sand that burned her feet. Her frizzy curls bounced along with her as she sprinted to the shade underneath the boardwalk. The cool, dry sand felt heavenly under her burnt feet and Trixie buried her painted toes in the sand for a second. There was chatter that she could hear from the dug outs, but she couldn't see who was talking. Trixie imagined it must have been those girls, and from what she heard, they all sound like they were her age. A familiar wheezing laugh cuts through the quiet banter and the other two other girls break out into laughter along with her. Trixie’s face broke out into a grin.

She weaved her way through wooden pillars until she sees the dug out where three girls were sitting off to the side of a large puddle forming in the middle. They didn’t notice her right away, still talking over one another. Katya’s back was to her as she talked to her friends, gesturing wildly. Trixie couldn't quite hear what they were talking about, but Katya seemed engrossed in her story. Something about "Mr. Holp" and "firecrackers". One of the girls’ eyes suddenly flick up to where Trixie was standing. She was the complete opposite of Katya. Her black hair fell down in waves across her shoulders and her face was soft, sculpted. Her eyes were the scariest part of her, sharp and calculating. Trixie felt like the girl figured out her life story just by looking at her and Trixie felt violated. The black-haired girl tapped the other two on their shoulders, and they craned their necks to look at Trixie from the top of the dug out.

The one sitting next to Katya was a chubby girl with a pile of red curls held in a bun with a flimsy hair tie. She was stout, but she had a friendlier face than the other one. She stared at Trixie quizzically, giving her a once-over before turning to Violet and whispering something Trixie couldn’t hear.

Katya recognized her immediately. She waves her arms frantically in an attempt to beckon her down. “Barbie!” She laughed. Well, that was a new nickname.

“Hi, Katya!” She answered back, a smile tugging at her cheeks. She was uneasy around the other girls, but her excitement about her new friend outweighed the fear.

“Come down here!” Katya cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. “I want you to meet Ginger and Vi!”

“Okay!” Trixie said before looking precariously down at the mountainous dip of the dug out. Trixie was sure if she jumped from here, she would sprain something, so she sat down on her butt, dug her heels into the water-hardened sand, sent a prayer, and slid down slowly. Katya laughed as Trixie made her way down and jogged over to meet her. When Trixie reached the bottom, Katya pulled her up by her forearms. Trixie took a second to adjust, holding tight to Katya’s arms, before she let go and thanked her. Katya casually slung an arm around her shoulder, and led her to where Ginger and Violet sat, still staring at her cautiously. Katya's skin was warm against hers, and tan from the days spent in the sun. Katya withdrew her arm and sat down and Trixie wouldn’t realize until later that it was disappointment that rose up within her. Trixie sat down next to her and waved shyly to Katya’s friends.

“So Katya, who’s this?” The red-head asked.

“Oh!” Katya said, remembering herself. “This is Trixie, she’s staying at the inn for the summer. Trixie, this is Ginger, and that’s Violet.” Katya pointed to each of them respectively. Ginger waved. Violet, more bored-looking than Ginger, nodded politely.

Trixie clasped her hands together. “So, I was wondering if I could play with you guys?" She smiled nervously, flitting her eyes from Violet to Ginger and back again. "My mom told me that I had to find something to do while she relaxed.”

“I don’t know if—“ Violet started, but was quickly elbowed by Katya.

“Yeah! We’re actually about to play beach hobos.” Trixie gave Katya a bewildered look, then turned to Ginger and Violet for explanation.

“Beach hobos?” Violet complained, “But you said we could do a regular game today!”

“Oh shut it, don’t act like you’re cooler than you are!” Ginger teased, “You like beach hobos just like the rest of us, you’re only tryin’ to act cool in front of the new girl.” She jerked her thumb in Trixie’s direction and the blonde had to fight down the blush coloring her cheeks. She avoided looking at Violet, but she was sure that the black-haired girl was just as embarrassed.

“Whatever,” Violet said, “but you’re explaining it, Ginger.”

“Okay,” Ginger turned back to Trixie, a grin adorning her face, “what we do is we sit under the boardwalk and pretend this hole is our home.”

Trixie waited for more explanation, but gets none. “…That’s it?” She asked.

“‘That’s it’? It’s so much more than that, Barbie!” Katya says gripping her arm. “It’s drama, it’s adventure! It’s a tale of rags to riches! People have died, others have succeeded, rising through the ranks to become the top sand CEOs of the world!” Her voice grows louder after each sentence until she’s right in Trixie face. From the corner of her eye, Trixie can see Ginger and Violet struggling to keep from laughing.

“How do you become a sand CEO?” Trixie asks, shrinking back from the Russian girl.

“It all depends on how the story goes,” Katya says nonchalantly, sitting back. “Sometimes you’re the CEO, sometimes you’re the lonely hobo dying of the flu. So, are you in?”

Trixie looked back to Ginger and Violet. Ginger stared expectantly while Violet looked like she couldn’t care less. Trixie sucked in a breath, turned back to Katya, and nodded.

“Cool! Trixie, you’re gonna be the hobo-turned-CEO, I’m gonna be the hobo that gets shot by the mafia but survives, Ginger will be the hobo that meets a nice baker and marries him, and Violet will be the hobo that dies of the common cold.”

“What?” Violet shouted, shocked. “I was gonna be the CEO this time! Why does Trixie get it right off the bat?”

“Because Trixie is cuter than you,” Katya said, standing up and brushing sand off of her swimsuit. Trixie blushed down to her shoulders, and struggled to squash the butterflies that swarmed in her stomach.

Violet gave Trixie a dirty look before standing up as well. Trixie shrunk back and Ginger laughed.

“Don’t worry, girl,” Ginger whispered to her, “Violet’s just jealous. If she tries to pretend-stab you, we’ll make sure you survive with a cool scar.”

Trixie grinned, and stood up as well. “Thank you,” she whispered back.

Ginger gave her a thumbs up and a pat on the back and Trixie felt at ease.

 

* * *

 

Trixie looks at herself in the mirror, thumbing at the visible hickeys on her neck and wiping the ruined lipstick smudged across her mouth. Patches of red lipstick highlighted the hickies. Trixie rubbed at it experimentally, but wrinkled her nose when it only smeared across her neck and fingers. She’s gonna have to run to the CVS on the corner and pick up some concealer and makeup wipes; she doesn’t want her mom to interrogate her the moment she walks through the door. She could only imagine the reaction: the sharp gasp, the constant questioning until Trixie slammed her bedroom door in her face and locked the door. Even then, she would probably try to FaceTime her.

One of the bedside lamps was flicked on earlier so an unnatural yellow light illuminates the room, making her skin seem much tanner. Looking through the mirror, she sees Katya staring blankly at the TV playing the local news. She’s playing with the frays on her bra absentmindedly. Her finger twirls around the loose threads. Patches of sun-kissed freckles speck Katya’s shoulders, and Trixie wants to go over there and kiss each and every one of them. Her blonde hair is tangled, probably from their earlier activities, and watches as Katya tries to tug apart each knot with her finger. The TV is quiet, and Trixie can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but it’s lulling and domestic. Her chest swells.

It’s been like this ever since they started hooking up. The long stretches of silence that followed sex were never unwelcome; they were content to do their own thing, basking in each other’s company. The need to fill awkward gaps with mindless chatter had long dissolved from their routine, leaving a cozy domesticity that Trixie cherished and craved.

She imagined it in other scenarios too. She thought of the future, where Katya is sitting at the dining room table while Trixie attempts to cook her something until finally settling on toast and jam, Katya reading feminist theory as Trixie sets the plate down in front of her before plopping down in her own seat with her own toast and jam, content in reading her fashion magazines. Katya would reach her hand across the table, not looking up from her book, and intertwine her fingers with Trixie’s, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles. They would sit and eat and read until they each had to go to work. They would kiss each other goodbye as they got in their cars and drove off to their respective jobs.

She flicked her eyes back to Katya, still watching TV. She bit the inside of her cheek.

The words have been stuck in her throat all night, but she didn’t have the courage to say them out loud yet.  _Hey, yeah, I know we’ve been fucking for a couple years and we’ve been friends for longer, but how would you feel about_ actually _dating?_

It scares the absolute shit out of her in the best possible way. Just the thought constricts her chest with excitement, millions of sparks circulating through her veins and tickling her lungs, racing down to her toes and back up again. It dances under her skin, and she wants to scratch it until it’s raw or burn it all up running laps around the motel, whooping and hollering. For the first time, she wants to break the silence. The urge rises to her throat until the pressure weighs on the back of her tongue.

She doesn’t even notice Katya behind her until a pair of arms wrap around her front and a chin settles on her shoulder, knocking Trixie out of her stupor. She lets out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding and smiles gently at the pair of green eyes staring back at her through the mirror. Trixie places one hand on Katya’s interwoven fingers and the other through her blonde locks, raking through the small knots in her hair. Red lips close around one of the hickies on her neck. She kisses it softly, admiring her own handiwork. Trixie tightens the grip in her hair. Katya pulls back and rolls her head to rest her cheek on the other’s shoulder.

“What were you thinking about?” Katya asks.

_You._

“You. On your knees,” Trixie saves herself.

Katya rolls her eyes and huffs. “A nice thought, but what were you  _actually_  thinking about?”

She considers it, but the words stick to the roof of her mouth like peanut butter. Instead she says, “I’ve actually been thinking of moving down here. What do you think of that?”

Katya looks taken aback. “Oh wow, this is sudden. Why are you thinking of moving down here? Don’t you want to move to California?”

“Yeah,” Trixie replies, “But I like it down here too. Just as easy to tan. Plus, you’re here.”

“And where would you stay, kitten?”

The name goes straight to Trixie’s gut, but she squashes it down immediately. Maybe later. “I don’t know, I’ll figure it out. Worse comes to worst I can whore myself out to you and lick your gross cunt in exchange for a couple of days at your place.”

Katya wheezes laughter and breaks her lock on Trixie’s waist, clutching at the younger woman’s hand. She says between laughs, “My gross, rotted, swollen cunt!” Trixie screams, then dissolves into laughing with Katya. The Russian wipes her eyes, giggles still escaping her, and says, “Nah, I’m sure Mama would love to take you in for free, but I wouldn’t mind getting eaten out more often,”

Trixie rolls her eyes and notices that Katya is still holding her hand. She squeezes it a bit tighter.

“I’ll definitely ask her about it then.”

They don’t talk for a while. Eventually, Katya leads Trixie back to the bed and pushes her gently onto the pillows. They arrange themselves so Trixie is tucked underneath Katya’s chin, their hands still clasped together. The Russian has her arm snaked around Trixie’s waist, fingers tapping out a rhythm on her hips every once in a while. Trixie’s other hand is in Katya’s hair, twirling a lock around her finger lazily. Katya is fixated on some documentary she switched the channel to, but Trixie is content staring at her. It’s quiet enough that she wonders if Katya can hear her thoughts rolling around in her brain, switching between wanting to ask her and shutting up and savoring the moment.

Trixie wants Katya to keep taking care of her. She loves how Katya will climb down the lifeguard tower and fetch her an umbrella from one of the rental places and set it up for her herself just to make sure that Trixie’s nose doesn’t get burnt. She loves how Katya will rub her feet when they get sore and feed her blueberries. She loves how Katya will fuck her good when she’s especially frustrated and call her  _kitten_  as she comes all over her fingers.

And she knows Katya loves it too.

“There’s also something else I wanted to talk about,” Trixie blurts out before she can change her mind.

“Hm?” Katya hums. She cranes her neck down to look are Trixie, her fingers squeezing her side.

“You know how we’ve been doing this for a while?” Trixie asks, subconsciously weaving bits of Katya’s hair into braids.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, Barbie. Spending summer together, fucking, or the robbing banks to pay for the nose jobs?”

“All three, definitely.”

“You know, I’m stuck between getting a nose like Angelyne’s or John C. Reilly’s. Which do you think would suit me better? Please say John C. Reilly.”

“John C. Reilly,” Trixie deadpans. They both break out into giggles. Katya’s laughing into her hair and makes her heart feel lighter as if she breathed in cold morning air, dewey and fresh. “No, I’m talking about the other two. Spending summers together and fucking.”

“Yeah, what about it? Do you want to stop?”

“No, it’s not that. I was wondering if we could, I don’t know, do more than that?”

“Do you  _actually_  want to rob banks?”

“What? No, I’m saying that—” Trixie takes a deep breath. “—I want to go on a real date. Or something.”

Katya tenses up. Trixie looks at her curiously as Katya unlaces their fingers and can feel a cold patch where Katya’s fingers were touching her skin moments ago.

“Oh,” Katya says slowly.

“What?” Trixie asks. A freezing hand grips at her heart. The sparks stop, the nervousness stops, everything stops.

“Oh, no, Trixie, I’m not— I didn’t think what we were doing here was— um,” Katya trips over her words. “I just don’t think that’s the best idea.”

That’s not the answer she was expecting.

Everything suddenly comes crashing down around her. Trixie’s lungs swell as she takes a long, shaky breath. Her mind is blaring alarms. She’s imagining sixteen years of friendship swirling down the drain as her brain is screaming a mantra of,  _I fucked up I fucked up I fucked up—_

“What do you mean by that?” Trixie asks, surprising herself with how calm her voice sounds. She sits up and shrugs Katya’s arm from her waist so she can look her dead in the eyes. Katya’s mouth is agape, trying to find words that will alleviate the situation.

“I thought… you understood what we had here,” Katya says. Panic is creeping into her green eyes as she wrings her hands together. Trixie snorts humorlessly as the words wriggle underneath her skin and settle on her shoulders, making them feel heavy.

“And what is it that we have here, Katya?” Trixie scoffs, condescension lacing her tone. She crosses her arms across her chest, her eyebrows furrowing. When she’s mad, she usually pouts— and Katya loves it. Loves it when she gets bratty, but right now Katya looks absolutely lost. She’s looking Trixie up and down, trying to find the answer somewhere on her body. Trixie’s not sure herself whether she’s mad at herself for asking, or at Katya for her answer, but she doesn’t want to think about it right now.

“Um,” Katya says.  


“Um?” Trixie repeats.

“I,” Katya begins, “I think we’re friends with benefits? Kind of? I don’t know. When we started hooking up a while ago, I figured there was some sort of… silent agreement? Like, you’re not here ninety-five percent of the time. How am I supposed to have a relationship with someone that’s halfway across the country for nine out twelve months?”

“Ever heard of FaceTime, Skype?” Trixie spits back.

Katya stops for a moment, considering her words. “That’s fair enough. But here’s the thing, Barbie—“

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay, no Barbie, got it. Trixie. I need you to understand that I don’t  _do_  long-term relationships. I just don’t. Monogamy, commitment, I don’t mess with that.”

“Oh, so I’m not the only one you’ve been fucking?” The younger woman says accusingly.

Katya looks absolutely taken aback. “Wait, what? No, no, that’s not what I meant—“

“You know what?” Trixie stands up. “Forget it. Sorry I asked. I’m putting my clothes back on and I’m leaving.”

The blonde finds her skirt from the corner of the room and shimmies it over her hips, snapping the elastic over her waist. She looks around for any sight of her shirt, and from the corner of her eye she can see Katya scramble to the foot of the bed.

“Trixie, come on, sit back down. Let’s talk about this,” Katya pleads.

“It doesn’t seem like you have anything important to say,” Trixie retorts.

Tears are now threatening to spill down her face, but the last thing Trixie wants is to cry in front of Katya. Spotting her shirt thrown over a chair, she picks it up and jams her arms through the sleeve holes. She buttons it haphazardly, not caring that it’s crooked, and stuffs the tails into her skirt. She doesn’t bother putting on her shoes and holds them in one hand as she sticks her clutch under her shoulder.

Fury boils under her skin, makes it itch, makes her want to take a boiling hot shower until her skin is red and burnt. Most of her believes that the anger is directed towards Katya, that it’s her fault for leading Trixie on, for making her feel this way, but deep down, in a place she doesn’t want to admit exists, she knows she’s being childish. She should be sitting down and discussing her feelings with Katya, but she’s running away like a fucking brat. Right now, she doesn’t want to be reasonable, she wants to wallow in self-pity until she aches.

“Trixie—“ Katya calls out. Trixie doesn’t hear the rest of what she says as she yanks open the motel door and slams it behind her. Tears start dripping down her face and a tiny sob escapes her.

She was so fucking stupid to think anything would come from this.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism would be super appreciated!! My tumblr is [here](https://trixies-thighs.tumblr.com/) if you want to come yell at me about things.
> 
> Also idk how frequent updates are gonna be since I'm in college and super unsure about everything I post, but I'll try and make sure each chapter isn't posted five years apart *thumbs up emoji*


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